The Burden of Truth
by paperbkryter
Summary: Playing with a theory. Post Croatoan. What really happened the night the demon first came to the Winchesters?


Mary screamed and the door slammed shut behind her. A second later _she _slammed into the door - pinned, paralyzed. She couldn't scream again. She listened desperately for the sound of running footsteps, but the house remained silent save for ghostly voices coming from the television downstairs.

_John! Oh God. John where are you?_

There was a dark presence with her in the room, standing beside the crib where she had at first mistaken it for her husband. Now she saw the truth. It was nothing but a shadow, features barely discernible in the darkness. She got only a vague impression of red, pock-marked skin surrounding a pair of glowing yellow eyes. The scent of sulfur filled the air. Mary Winchester had been raised by deeply religious Catholic parents. Instinctively she knew what it was standing before her. It was no man.

A devil. A demon.

She couldn't scream but she could speak. "My baby..." she gasped. Tears filled her eyes. The baby lay limp and motionless in the creature's hands. "What have you done?"

It spoke, not out loud, but in a sibilant whisper inside her head.

"SIDS," it said casually. "I've seen it before, many times. The child is dead. It's not of my doing."

"No..." Mary choked on a sob. Pain stabbed her in the heart. "Sammy, no..."

"No? That depends a lot on you, Mary." The voice grew stronger as the demon took one step forward, holding the baby out toward her. "It's not too late. I can bring him back." Its yellow eyes narrowed. "For a price."

Abruptly Mary found herself able to move. She could scream, she could throw open the door and run to safety. If she ran away she could save herself – but not her son.

Instead of fleeing she went forward, quickly pulling the baby out of the shadowy hands that held him. His small body was cold to the touch, his lips blue. Mary clutched him tightly to her chest. He did not move. He did not breathe. He could not be warmed. She backed slowly toward the door, sobbing, her hair falling forward over the child like a golden shroud.

The demon was patient. It waited. It waited until she raised her head again. She met its baleful gaze. Her voice shook at first, but quickly steadied. She was a strong woman, the wife of a soldier, and of that she was proud.

"What price?" she demanded. "What do you want?"

She sensed it smile.

"Your life."

Mary's breath caught. "My..."

"Call it – a transplant."

Her eyes fell down upon the baby's still features. With a trembling hand she touched his soft brown hair, and raised him to her lips to kiss his forehead, his cheek. He smelled sweet, like baby powder and applesauce. She longed to see his bright eyes and hear his laughter.

"Not my soul?" she asked.

"Not your soul," the demon replied.

"And he'll live?"

"He'll live. He's a gifted child, Mary. He'll be brilliant of mind, bright of spirit, gentle in nature. People will love and admire him." It shrugged. "If he lives."

"For my life..."

"For your life."

"And that's all?" There was a feeling deep inside her that her life wasn't all it wanted. The exchange was too easy, too straight forward, and the value of her life...how much was it? Not much, she thought.

"You're a smart lady."

"I know your kind," she said.

"From Sunday school?" It laughed a low, chilling laugh. "I think _not_." With a nod, it took another step forward. "You should make up your mind, before he passes beyond my ability to save."

She clutched the baby tighter. "What's the catch? You tell me. There's more, isn't there?"

"Of course," it said, and it chuckled once more. "I want him. More so, I want what he can do."

The air in the room suddenly seemed to grow cold, or maybe it was Mary's fear making her so. A chill ran up her spine.

"He's gifted," the demon continued quietly. "With abilities beyond your understanding, abilities humans have yet to evolve. Nature doesn't want to get ahead of itself. Most of these children die before they're a year old."

"Crib deaths?"

It tipped its head in confirmation. "Those few that live eventually go mad. At best they retreat into their own minds, condemning themselves to a life spent in and out of mental institutions. At worse they become sociopaths, and ultimately, killers." Its voice was tinged with laughter, as if it were enjoying her plight. It probably was. "So, Mary, there is another consideration you must make."

"But you said he would be..."

"IF you complete our bargain. I can give him life, and many years of success and sanity. I can make sure he'll never spend a day behind the locked doors of either an asylum or a prison."

Mary bit her lip. "But..."

"But I can only control, not cure, and there are limits. I can suppress his abilities entirely until adulthood, let him live his own life for a time. After that I can only be a guide, one he will have no choice but to follow, and I will utilize his power as I see fit." Its voice softened, sensing her alarm. "I reward my children well, Mary. His life will be comfortable, he will not suffer, not as long as he remains with me. You have my word."

It had come closer as they "spoke" and now stood within touching distance. She could feel the heat radiating off of its shadowed form. The unnatural heat warmed her through. It warmed the baby too. She felt him stir against her breast, and heard a small, muffled cry. Overjoyed, she held him away from her, rejoicing in the sight of rosy cheeks and bright eyes. The child yawned as if he had just woken from a nap. He smiled up at her, wriggling happily. Mary held him close and kissed him.

"Time to decide, Mary." The demon whispered. "Does the child live, or die?"

Mary looked up into its yellow eyes. The demon stared back, waiting.

_John, I love you. I love you..._

"Live," she whispered. "Let him live."

* * *

"Dean, what did he tell you?"

Dean had a pretty good poker face, or at least he liked to think he did. Right now he was pretty sure he looked miserable simply because of how Sam looked. Sam was obviously upset, and scared. Dean figured he'd eventually be pissed off as hell. After all, both Dean and their father had both lied their asses off to him.

"_What's dead should stay dead."_

His own words echoed back at him. Parents always want what's best for their children, but sometimes, through no fault of their own, they don't know what that is. Dean was learning the hard way that Mom and Dad were not infallible. John had made more than a few mistakes. Mary had definitely made a mistake. Dean was having a particularly hard time with that one.

The last thing he wanted to do was place blame on Sammy. Sam didn't understand why Dean was acting the way he'd been acting, because Sam didn't know the truth. Bitterness, remorse, and regret were not as obvious as guilt and grief. Dean's head was filled with visions of a life he never had as a child, and as a result of his screwed up childhood, the life he could never have as an adult. Awake, or dreaming, it was all he could think about. He had to remind himself over and over again that it wasn't Sam's fault.

Dean channeled everything away from Sam and purged it with violence toward others. He shot it. He knifed it. He beat it to death. Sam was left unscathed, and for a short time Dean would feel better.

He could have had a home, a family, a _whole_ family. His parents could have had other children. Dean could have had another brother, even a little sister to coddle and protect. They all could have been _normal_.

If Mary Winchester hadn't made the wrong decision.

"_Dean, I know the truth."_ John had whispered. _"Your brother should have died that night, the night the demon came, but your mother made a deal with it. She gave up her life, and Sam's soul, so he would live, so he could manage the – abilities - he has, without putting himself and everyone around him in danger. "_

Yeah, okay Dad. So now what?

"_It's coming for him, Dean, and it has to be stopped."_

How?

"_It'll use him, use him to do bad things. We can't let that happen, no matter what, even if it means sacrificing everything. This is big, bigger than you know, Dean. It's more than just us now. There are others we have to protect."_

I can't. Dad, I can't.

"_I know you'll do what's right when the time comes, but promise me, son. Promise HER."_

I promise, but...

"Dean. What the hell did he say?"

He only wanted to spare Sam the pain. Dean lived because of their father's sacrifice. Sam lived because of their mother's, but Mary had unwittingly given away so much more than her own life in the process. She gave away what could have been for her husband and her other child. Their lives were irreparably altered, ruined, because of her sacrifice, because Sam had lived when he should have died.

Dean knew how the revelation would make Sam feel. He didn't want to hurt his brother, he didn't want to let go of the secret John had kept for god knew how long. His father had been so much stronger. Dean needed help carrying the burdens he'd inherited. Sam wanted to help him, but the only way Sam _could _help would be to learn the painful truth about himself.

Help me, save you.

"Dean!"

Because I don't want to have to kill you.

"_What's dead should stay dead."_

I will though, Sammy, if there's no other choice.

"_I'm tired, Sam..."_

And if you go, I go. That's a promise.

It's only fair.

Dean cleared his throat and gestured toward the car with his empty beer bottle. "Get us both another round, would ya," he said. "'cause this isn't gonna go down easy."


End file.
